


we’re doing what friends do (not)

by mister all rounder (jeadore)



Category: Produce 101 (TV), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, more like yohan's gay awakening, rise yohangyul pls, thank god no one majors in philosophy or this burn would be extremely slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-18 14:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20640365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeadore/pseuds/mister%20all%20rounder
Summary: One bright Sunday morning, a revelation kicks Yohan down: he may have feelings for his best friend. Gay panic ensues.(or: the one where Wooseok is the actual enlightener, Hangyul is boyfriend material and Yohan may not be as straight as he previously thought. Also: fuck Plato.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is self-indulgent, based on [ my own tweet. ](https://twitter.com/jeadore_/status/1163898382638813190)  
2\. I honestly don't know how long it'll take because Yohan and Hangyul are both precious babies but also dumb af.  
3\. Unbetaed, sorry. 
> 
> I hope you like it~!

The beat drops hard as Seungyoun winces in approval and clinks his glass. People in the other tables around them talk loudly, crafting a cacophony of sounds along with the EDM music and the occasional clink of glassware that is weirdly energizing. Or maybe that’s the booze working.

The place is filled to the brim and it’s starting to look more like a club than a bar per se, but it’s Saturday night, the week-end post exams and they are in Sinchon, in the most college bar imaginable. They wanted to get as farther as possible from their school and they ended up there, almost ironically in the middle of a sea of Yonsei students. But the drinks are cheaper than Yohan thought, the music is good judging by the way that Seungyoun sways and by the small group crowding the makeshift dancefloor, and the atmosphere is admittedly great.

Sitting next to him, Hangyul nods to the rhythm and chuckles at Seungyoun’s antics. He is also moving his leg under the table and doing that face, that expression he always makes when there’s a sick beat booming through the speakers and his whole body is itching to dance. But Hangyul remains there, dropping jokes and mocking his roommate every chance he gets.

“I propose a toast,” Seungyoun announces, raising his half empty glass of beer. There’s soju mixed in there too—an explanation of Seungyoun’s rosy cheeks.

“Let me guess,” Wooseok says, a smug grin appearing on his doll-like face. “To Yohan’s life of success?”

“To Yohan’s life of success!” the other yells, excitedly. Like it’s the first toast of the night instead of their fourth or fifth time. Nevertheless, everybody follows along and clink their glasses. “I wish you win everything you deserve.”

Yohan giggles, a bit touched. Happy. “Thank you, hyung.”

Tonight’s gathering started as a celebration—a pre-celebration actually. Some sort of bachelor party-like as the others described, but instead of celebrating his soon-to-be wedding, they were enjoying the last shreds of his freedom. Starting next week, Yohan would have to concentrate in his practice for the next taekwondo tournament. And that not only means a ton lot of hours in the gymnasium, but also to minimize his distractions. To bid goodbye to his lazy Sundays, to his hours in the PC cafés and to the music shows he sometimes watches.

Starting next week, he’ll see his friends less and less, eat more protein and energy bars and follow the strict routine his coach hands him. To that, Yohan kind of wants to chunk another glass of soju and beer.

“To Yohan’s next golden!” Hangyul screams and everyone follows suit before drowning their drinks. They are on their way to being pissed drunk, even if Hangyul only sips from his first? Second glass? Yohan hasn’t been paying attention given that he will not be the one paying the tab tonight, but he bets that Wooseok has. And not because he’ll be paying either (Seungyoun will be, for sure), but because Wooseok never gets drunk—which is freaking scary and enviable if you ask Yohan. He stands in the other side of the spectrum, lightweight as every newbie, but at least he is not the worst in their small group of friends. Hangyul hugs his shoulders and pats his arm, hand heavy and warm. Supportive and encouraging, in his nonchalant way. “You’re going to do great, dude. I’m sure.”

“Ah. I’m not…” he starts, but his friend shakes his head and repeats his words, softly. They’d have go lost among the EDM beats if Hangyul hasnt’t spoken almost in his ear. “Thank you, Gyul-ah. For that and… for all your help.”

A slightly embarrassed chuckle escapes from his friend’s mouth. “Whenever you need. Or want.”

For anyone, it might look like they are common words, futile promises that almost everyone does in the heat of moment—be it because of the subject of the talk, the atmosphere or the booze. A prefabricated expression, something almost morally obligated to say. Yet it strikes Yohan numb, halts him as warmth quickly spreads through his body. A nice pleasant warmth, like the sunbeams of a winter afternoon. And it’s because Hangyul means it. Even if they’ve been friends for barely more than six months, even if half of that time Hangyul’s been saying dry jokes, Yohan knows he means it.

Hangyul told him once—he might not be good with words and feelings, so he knows the value of those.

“Thanks, man. I love you,” Yohan replies, a sloppy smile in his lips that only grows bigger when Hangyul fake-cringes. Yet, he never pulls out of the half embrace or lets his arm fall. Instead, Hangyul pats his shoulder again, moving his fingers at the rhythm of music.

When Yohan averts his gaze, he catches Wooseok staring at him over the brim of his glass. Unwavering, a bit intimidating. Like the one he casted to him the first time he met him in the University campus. He raises his eyebrows in askance, but is Seungyoun the one who answers. Or try to in the middle of his laughing fit. “You’re already red, Yohan-ah. How much is your tolerance?”

Not less than twenty minutes later, Hangyul ditches them for the dance floor and drags Wooseok with him before they can even finish their Cleopatra game. Leaving Yohan to an unofficial beer chunk competition and an already lost game because no one can win against Seungyoun when it comes to something music-related and/or to being loud. Except Seungwoo, maybe. But Seungwoo went back to Busan for the weekend, for his mother’s birthday. So is Yohan the only one in the end with a sore throat and chunking the beer and soju Seungyoun places in front of him.

Hangyul and Wooseok are a sight to behold in the dance floor. They are engulfed by the small boisterous crowd, surrounded by hot college girls and a few guys, but they still manage to stand out. Granted, is not that hard when Wooseok is around—face dreamy and prince-like, elegant mysterious aura highlighted by his smoky make up, and small body frame clad in black jeans and a dark red blouse—and less when he grinds against Hangyul at a sensual pace. Yohan sneaks a look towards Seungyoun, yet the guy in front of him smiles as he always does, maybe a little bit sloppier.

Perhaps they are all used to Wooseok’s attraction power by now. He guesses that Hangyul could be a good contender, especially since he dyed his hair grey ash.

“Hangyulie has been talking about becoming a back-up dancer, you know?” Seungyoun says, gaze still fixed in the dance floor.

Yohan nods a few times and then giggles when he realizes that the other won't notice it. “Yeah, he told me. He’s been thinking on auditioning for some T-ara member solo song? Or something like that.”

“He’ll do great,” Seungyoun states with a lazy, proud smile as he still watches the vibrant dancing bodies under the strobe lights. Once again, Yohan wonders how tight a relationship between roommates can become—from virtual strangers to friends in less than half a year. More than that: there’s some strong built trust and inside jokes that sometimes make Yohan feel left out.

Without hesitation, Yohan agrees. As a dancer, Hangyul would do better than great. Even if Yohan hasn’t seen him dance a lot and now it becomes difficult in this dim atmosphere, Hangyul is clearly good. There’s something in his powerful yet fluid moves that draws the attention to him, no matter that he’s doing a half-assed freestyle of a remixed idol song.

Or maybe is the way he bites his lips as he plays with the neck of Wooseok’s shirt. Like he is looking forward to a good time. Like he is promising one.

No wonder a pretty girl latches onto him soon after.

Next thing he knows, he is in the middle of the makeshift dance floor. Jumping, laughing and doing silly faces with his friends as he sips from the beer that Wooseok passed him earlier. Someone asks for his number and Yohan tries to laugh it away because he’s pretty sure the girl is a Yonsei student.

Next thing he knows, he is sitting on the steps of the Sinchon station. Head resting on top of a sturdy shoulder, a faint scent of Iris and sandalwood and a heavy coat wrapped around his body. The station’s artificial lights are annoying and when he tries to complain, someone pats his head softly. “The trains will resume in like ten minutes. Sleep a little more,” a gentle husky voice says. And Yohan complies.

Bright. So damn bright that it makes him curious, so he flutters his eyelids open and immediately squish them because _ouch_. His head. Hurts, so damn _much_ and the dazzling light doesn’t help at all.

He scrunches his face and tries to go back to the land of unconsciousness, were everything was pretty much painless. It doesn’t happen—if anything, it increases.

“Oh, he woke up,” a honey-like voice pipes up, which Yohan is quite sure it belongs to Wooseok. That’s odd. Why would Wooseok be there…?

Against his better judgement, he opens his eyes again to a bright, spacious room. Not his, though—he doesn’t remember ever pasting palm trees drawings nor posters in other languages in his walls. The sunlight that comes in through the window not only bothers him, but also lets him see clearly that he’s in a campus dorm room given the characteristically pastel yellow walls and pine tree furniture. In Hangyul’s, more specifically.

“Hey, you okay?” the room’s owner asks, in an even lower tone than Wooseok’s—for which Yohan is thankful. “How do you feel?”

Nasty. Awful. And that just the taste in the back of Yohan’s mouth. His head is way worse. “Fine. I’ll—,” he starts, but the pain behind his eyeballs becomes sharper, like he’s been kicked by the whole KU Taekwondo club. Repeatedly. “I could be better. Why am I here?”

“Oh, I brought you here. Figured you wouldn’t want your family to see you in that state,” Hangyul says and grins. His eyes are glossy and hooded, like he could have had a bit more of sleep, yet he’s sitting on the floor and watching a vid on his phone in mute.

No, not on the floor. Hangyul is sitting on top of a few blankets laid on the wooden floor, some sort of makeshift bed. Most likely, where he slept last night (this morning), given that Yohan is occupying the mattress.

“I—yeah. Thanks.”

“No prob, dude. I also bought hangover soup for you and for the sleeping beauty over there,” Hangyul says as he leisurely stands up and walks towards his desk. There are two paper bags from the off-campus restaurant that Yohan knows Hangyul really likes, the one with the old grandma cashier that usually gives him a small discount or a free drink.

From the other side of the room, Seungyoun turns around in his bed and groans something along the line of “’ma awake” in an unusual hoarse voice. Honestly, he doesn’t seem to be that awake or better than Yohan. Sitting by Seungyoun’s side, Wooseok plays idly with his hair, gently stroking and pulling teasingly until the other guy smiles lazily at him.

“Morning, babe,” Seungyoun mutters and tries to get up to kiss him, but Wooseok stops him coolly by placing a finger in his chin.

“Not gonna kiss you until you wash up.”

“Why?” Seungyoun whines with pursued lips. Then he stealthily sniffs his own wrist and his arm. “Oh, yeah. I stink,” he states easily and carelessly. It kind of makes Yohan wonder if he smells too. “Shower with me?”

Wooseok shakes his head. “Already did,” he answers. And points at his slightly wet hair and at the big t-shirt that swallows his whole frame.

Not the reply that Seungyoun wanted apparently, because he pursues his lips like a little kid before raising his eyebrows like puppy asking for food. When the other guy shakes his head again, he gets up quickly in swift move that makes him groan right after. “I’ll come back in a few minutes,” he announces as he grips his head. “And then I’ll take the soup. Thank you, Gyul-ah!”

Holding a pair of wooden chopsticks and a disposable spoon in one hand and a plastic container with steaming soup in the other, Hangyul stares at his roommate’s back in disbelief. “It’ll be completely cold,” he states and scrunches his nose.

The plastic container is still warm when Yohan grabs it, on its way to lose all steam. The oxblood looks a bit overcooked by now, but there’s a lot of green onions just like Yohan prefers plus a surprisingly amount of beef. All in all, it looks so good and appetizing and smells so good and delicious that Yohan feels his mouth even drier than before. Can’t wait to taste it.

Of course that Hangyul chooses that moment to be a clown. His friend teases him, handing over the chopsticks but taking them back as farther as he can at last minute. He does it a couple of times before taking pity on Yohan’s eager and distressed expression. But still looks thoroughly amused as he watches Yohan finally eat and burn his tongue with the (hotter than it looked) soup. He even points it out to Wooseok.

Two mouthful bites in, Yohan already feels like he’s sweating buckets. Even if it’s winter and he’s wearing a thin long sleeve tee. Which, he remembers, is not what was wearing last night.

“And my clothes?” he asks, pulling at the hem of the light blue t-shirt. He also has training pants on, that he overlooked at first because are the same he wears to practice. The same white pants with black straight lines on its side that he bought back at the beginning of the semester with Hangyul because there was a 2x1 promo.

Hangyul snaps his fingers. “Right, that. I’m washing them. You kind of stained them. A lot.”

_Ugh_.

Disgust and shame kick in and Yohan is torn in between trying to apologize and trying to hide under the covers forever. He must had been such a spectacular mess. All these years practicing Taekwondo, learning self-control just to let self-control go out the window—even if that was the solely reason of last night meeting.

At least he still has his integrity. Enough to recognize his wrongs.

“Oh god. I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m sorry. I got you in so many troubles…!”

A giggle escapes his mouth out of nervousness and that makes him feel even more horrified. But not as much as when peals of laughter rumble in the room, followed by Wooseok’s softer chuckles.

He’s so never drinking again.

“It’s fine, dude. It wasn’t vomit or anything like that. Just that weird blue drink,” Hangyul explains, a big cheeky grin in his face as he gestures for Yohan to calm down. And, _oh_, that actually calms him a bit. Nevertheless, Yohan attempts to apologize again for all the mess, but his friend takes a step back. “I’m going to check the machine. You just finish your soup and relax. Go easy with the head.”

“I— Thank you, Hangyul-ah,” he stammers, heart pounding with embarrassment and sincerity. But it feels like sincerity isn’t enough, like two words aren’t enough to demonstrate how grateful he is, so he adds: “You’re doing so much. I love you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t sweat on it. Take a nap if you need. Or over there is the computer if you want to catch up on your music shows,” Hangyul says and point towards the desk with the plastic bags and a bunch of fluffy balls that his friend seems to be collecting. “Enjoy your last lazy Sunday,” he sneers before leaving the room at a relaxed pace.

More at ease, Yohan lies back in the bed. Engulfed by the smooth, creamy aroma impregnated in the sheets and showered by the winter sun’s rays that warm his face, Yohan closes his eyes and comfortably dozes off.

Or he tries to. Because a few moments after the door closes, Wooseok’s voice raises. “So. You love him?”

Yohan opens his eyes, confused. “What?”

“You told Hangyul you loved him,” Wooseok states, blank face and unwavering tone. Like he is talking about the tasteless smashed potatoes the canteen serves on Thursdays. “Twice, actually.”

Unsure of what he means, Yohan turns to him with furrowed eyebrows—out of confusion mainly, but also because it kind of helps to subdue the pain. His head is fuzzy and the hangover soup is great and tasty, but doesn’t work that fast.

Wooseok sighs and right after that a sneaky grin pulls his lips upward, starting to resemble the little demon Yohan suspects is hidden behind the delicate face. (Actually, he never suspected. Seungwoo was the one who mentioned it once during lunch and now Yohan can’t unsee it.) Wooseok tilts his head in what may be a pensive manner, but being against sunlight it only looks devilish with the shadows thrown under his eyes.

“I haven’t told those three words even once to Seungyoun.”

And then it sinks in in Yohan. The meaning, the intentions. He sits up immediately as he shakes his head. And as if that’s not enough, he shakes his hands too, vehemently. “No, no. Not like that,” he explains. “Hangyul is just my friend. I love him but, you know, as a friend. Like—Platonically.”

Something he said must had prompted Wooseok, because he now looks smug and way slyer than before. “Funny, because Plato was totally fucking his friends.”

What.

What did he…

“The historians tried to hide it, but Dión, Anniceris and Socrates too, though he was his teacher. Also his slaves... All of them were Plato’s fuck buddies,” Wooseok enumerates and even count with his fingers.

And—What. “You’re kidding me.”

Wooseok shakes his head, amused. “You can ask Seungwoo hyung.”

Right, he could. Except that Yohan can’t do such thing, not when the air has been knocked out of his lungs and his lips tremble.

Yohan snaps out of his stupor and quickly lies back down the moment he hears the doorknob turn. It’s stupid and maybe a bit cowardly on his side, but it’s like a reflex. He shuts his eyes tightly and tries to even his breathing, which somehow it feels like a harder task to accomplish right now than after long practices. Pulling the cover tighter around his frame and closer to his face, he wishes really hard to fall back asleep. 

Yet, he can’t.

“Yohan is sleeping again?” he hears Seungyoun ask, voice softer than usual. For an energetic and loud person, he’s also quite respectful and knows to adapt himself quite well to the atmosphere. A surprising side that Yohan never expected at the beginning if he’s honest, no matter that Hangyul mentioned once or twice. “Is he still hangover?”

“Maybe? He was kind of having a mental breakdown.”

Yeah, that’s a good way of describing it.

“Ooh, too bad. But if he’s sleeping and now I’m clean, you know what it means, right?” Seungyoun asks cheekily, in an attempted whisper. Yohan can picture Seungyoun moving his eyebrows suggestively and, sadly, he can imagine what it means too. “_Cuddles_.”

Soft honey-like chuckles and thuds of steps are the only sounds that echo in the room for a moment, followed by the creak of the mattress under a new weight.

Yohan tries really hard to block them out. The sound of pecks and sloppy kisses, the murmurs and giggles, the imaginary.

But that just leave him with his own thoughts, ringing louder and louder.

Him and Hangyul as friends—dumb jokes and giggles. Him and Hangyul as more than friends. Him and Hangyul being intimate—tight hugs and pecks. Him and Hangyul being boyfriends. Him and Hangyul—nothing.

There’s nothing between them.

_Nothing_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the warm responses! I didn't started this story with high hopes, but all your nice comments and kudos made me so, so happy!! Thank you!  
(And sorry by the lateness, slow turtle writer over here.)

Yohan dreams with steadiness. Is hard to explain when it isn’t something he can pinpoint—not a thing, a sight or a person. A feeling, maybe. A sensation. Something that like grounds him. Or not, really, because it gives him space—the opportunity to run, dance, jump, kick, or just stay back and lay freely. Whatever he wants.

Is like rock and sand at the same time. Strong, firm and reliable, but it also adaptable to him. Dependable.

Although, if he’s not careful, it could slip through his fingers.

The elusive haven of peace he found is interrupted by a vague sound, something in between a gruff and a whimper that sounds weirdly familiar. It takes a lot of willpower, but more of his curiosity to open his eyes, and when his eyelids finally crack open the first he sees is Hangyul. Or a human figure he guesses is Hangyul given the breadth of his back. Definitely Hangyul the one that bends down and grunts and punches Seungyoun’s legs, repeatedly.

“What are you doing?” Yohan asks, confused. His voice is still raspy, laced with sleepiness.

The back straighten up and suddenly rounded eyes look at him from over the shoulder. “Oh, you’re up?” his friend asks back and Yohan is tempted to comment something snarky about the obviousness. “Playing UNO. Wanna join?”

Yohan looks at all the cards in his hand and scoffs. “You ask just because you’re being annihilated. Loser.” And almost hidden in the corner, Wooseok nods as he shows off his last lonely card with a victorious smirk.

“That’s because these two teamed up against me!” Hangyul grunts, but it feels like a whine from a baby. Even with his eyebrows furrowed, he doesn’t seem as frightening as when they first met anymore—not when he thrust out his lower lip, making it look fuller. Not in vain Hangyul gained the title of KU’s baby Tiger between their peers and sunbaes from the taekwondo club.

Seungyoun chuckles and snickers a “Nothing you can prove” as he points out the pile of cards in the middle of the bed. Sulkily, Hangyul draw two.

In the end, Yohan does join them right after Wooseok puts down a red +2, successfully winning the game and making Hangyul add another two cards to his already large hand. The Pout™ also grows larger. It’s kinda cute. Kinda. It’s funnier actually, because Hangyul is all big bones and strong features and fierce eyes, but then: A child. A sweet summer child, fool and annoying. And when he gets comfortable around certain people—older people, usually—, he lets his inner kid wildly unleashed. Naïve, waggish, almost expecting to be babied. Yohan guesses that this behaviour is triggered by Seungyoun being in the room.

They call the game off and restart the round. Which Yohan loses miserably. Wooseok is ruthless playing all his wild cards exceptionally well, Seungyoun is like the luckiest person half of the time and the other half is screeching because he has to draw eight cards and Hangyul seems set in tearing him down, so Yohan only can try to retaliate. _Try_ being the key word, because between Wooseok skipping his turn again and again and Hangyul screaming “UNO!” in his ear and scaring him to death, Yohan can barely do something.

At least his head doesn’t pound anymore.

“You know what they say: unlucky at cards, lucky in love,” Seungyoun singsongs, cheeky smile and everything as he collects all the cards.

Yohan halts, air suddenly stuck in his lungs. Huh. That’s… not true. He’s been single for months now and no one has showed interest in him that he’s been aware of. Except maybe for that Yonsei chick from last night. No one has called his attention either lately, which is weird because he’s been kind of expectant. People always say that college is when you date and find love and yourself and--

Yohan sneaks a glance to his side. Hangyul is smiling, amused. Like if he knows what’s going on in Yohan’s mind.

Like if he knows.

“Hyung, you were winning the round before,” he replies.

“That’s only because Wooseokie was helping me against Hangyul,” Seungyoun explains.

“He’d have lost in his third turn, otherwise,” Wooseok adds.

Prompted by the acceptance of his earlier accusations, Hangyul complains. The Pout™ does an appearance again, lower lip fuller and redder. A hint of how it could look like after a make out-- “Dude! This is UNO! This is where friendships are destroyed, not strengthened.”

As only response, Wooseok kisses Seungyoun’s cheek, who smiles tenderly as he mixes the cards. It’s chaste yet weirdly intimate, and it makes Yohan kind of uncomfortable. Maybe is not by that act alone, but by the whole picture—the bodies closer than normal, the silent understanding, the feeling of domesticity. Maybe is because Wooseok’s hand is resting on top of Seungyoun’s thighs, or because Seungyoun doesn’t seem to mind. It’s as if they were showing off on their faces that they are in a relationship.

Weight falls over Yohan’s shoulders and a creamy faint aroma of sandalwood embraces him. “Okay, I have a proposition,” Hangyul says, stage whispering in his ear, voice husky and playful. His arm around his shoulders is warm, so, so warm. And he’s also so, so close—personal space be damned. “What if we put our differences aside and become allies?“ There’s competitiveness hidden in his words that matches with the golden specks of eagerness glinting in his big eyes. It’s the sun’s fault. Even his eyelashes fucking glow under the weak afternoon sunlight. “Together we could take that kitty out.”

Wooseok complains—be it about being called kitty or being threatened, they’ll never know.

And honestly? Yohan doesn’t care. Not when he’s too busy trying to not freak out at the proximity. Hangyul scoffs and Yohan swears humid, warm air hits his cheek.

“Oh, a rematch of couple UNO?” Seungyoun asks.

_Couple_. His rational side knows that is an usual word in games, that it doesn’t imply anything further. But his irrational side wins and Yohan finally freaks out. Pushes Hangyul slightly away and stands up as fast as years of training taught him.

“I better get going,” he says as he grabs his coat. “Wouldn’t want my family to preoccupy and start calling missing children.”

Hangyul blinks quite confused before he nods. “Right, it is getting late. We can avenge our dignities another time.”

“Sure,” Yohan agrees as he puts on his shoes by the door. He bites back an _after the tournament_, bitter. It feels like he made the atmosphere awkward enough, no need to remind him that he won’t have time to laze and play around. Nor that he might not be seen a lot from now on—except if they meet in class and/or practices. Classes they don’t share and practices where they are separated in different teams according to their specialties. That if Hangyul doesn’t skip them at all. “See you tomorrow?” he asks, trying to reduce the awkwardness and to calm the sudden light fear that churns in his guts.

He waits for Hangyul to nod before leaving the dorm room.

The late afternoon’s chilling breeze does nothing to soothe his new-founded nerves. The campus is kind of deserted, which is understandable for a Sunday, but its calm just pricks on him. In the six months he’s been in college, he’s gotten used to bustling groups of students gathering in the parks, to the people hurrying up through the paths to their next class, to the low noises of breathing.

But right now, the far sounds of cars outside the campus are the only thing that could distract him from his own thoughts. Worst distraction ever, honestly. Yohan can’t help but mentally replay every single awkward giggle he laughed, every single glance he threw towards his friend, every single thought about closing distances that ran through his mind.

Why, why, why? Why is he now considering—? _No_. There’s nothing to consider.

Lee Hangyul is his friend. The guy he jokes with and bickers with from time to time. The guy he eats supper with when they finish their practices. The guy he complains with about professors the other doesn’t know. The guy he goes to the gym with. The guy that dyed all his white training shirts pink once so Yohan hid his sneakers in different lockers for a whole month in cheap vendetta. The guy that stood by his side through his first and last break-up.

And yeah, platonically speaking— No, not platonically. _Objectively_ speaking, Lee Hangyul is good looking. Big but thin body frame, high cheekbones and double eyelids. Nothing like the chubby cheeks and cute monolids from his ex-girlfriend.

Yohan can honestly understand why some girls from his batch are interested in Hangyul. But that’s objectively speaking, of course. After all, Lee Hangyul is a man and, more important (or equally?), is his friend.

The cold slips through his coat and Yohan winces when he sees he’s still wearing the thin long sleeve tee underneath.

Someone calls his name the moment he’s about to cross the University’s gate. Is Wooseok, walking towards him at a quick pace as he carries two small bags, without showing any trace of exertion. It must be due to his chic aura. He’s even wearing a slight relaxed smile. 

Yohan can’t help but sulk at that. And at Wooseok in general, maybe. After all, any resemblance between his mind and a train wreck was prompted by the guy that is reaching the gates too.

“Hey, you forgot your clothes,” Wooseok informs him and hands him a bag. The other one probably contains his own clothes.

Yohan mumbles a _thanks_ as he peeps at the insides of the bag. His white dress shirt, his black jeans, the black belt with thuds that his ex gave him as a birthday present. All of them smelling like fresh fabric softener.

“Don’t thank me. Hangyul noticed it. And as I was about to leave too…” Wooseok explains vaguely. “Hey, what’s that face?”

Maybe and just maybe, Yohan did a small, insignificant, almost imperceptible grimace. And maybe, just extremely maybe, it was at the mention of his friend’s name.

“Nothing.”

But Wooseok is just too damn perceptive. And sly—don’t think that Yohan forgot about the tiny smug smiles in his face during their talk earlier, when Yohan was too hungover to function and too susceptible to be deluded.

“Is because of what I said earlier?” Wooseok asks smoothly, out of pure intuition. He also raises an eyebrow, like daring him to lie. Or to be honest. In any case, Yohan doesn’t foresee a nice outcome for him and his peace of mind. “I just pointed out that you feel something else for Hangyul than friendship.”

That sounds way too matter-of-factly and a little sugar-coated. Wooseok was straightforward, mentioning love and implying that he wants to fuck his best friend like someone talks about the ingredients of a recipe—even naming some (not so) fun facts.

Looking back, Wooseok dropped a shoe. And now is gauging his reaction.

Well, Yohan will not give him such pleasure. “But I don’t. I told you: we’re just friends.”

The other guy shrugs. “You sometimes act like more than that tho. And you said ‘platonically’… huh. Maybe you don’t know what platonically really means.”

Yohan blinks, thoroughly confused. His hangover might be coming back to mess with him. Or Wooseok is just this mix of straightforward and cryptic.

“What do you mean? I don’t’, we don’t do—we could never be more than friends.”

A frown appears in Wooseok’s face. “Why? You think that Hangyul is not into guys?”

“No, no. I know he is.”

The frown accentuates. “So? What’s the problem? Is he into someone else?”

_Yep, your boyfriend!_

Yohan bites his lip. No matter how much Wooseok is messing with his head and nerves, he could never do that to him. He could never lash out against him, especially when the other hasn’t been anything but a good hyung to him. Nor could he create this awkward atmosphere in his group of friends on purpose, nor betray Hangyul’s trust.

“Is not that, hyung. It’s me,” Yohan replies. “I’m not into guys. I’m straight.”

For a moment, Wooseok remains silent, small mouth slightly open. The street noises aren’t loud enough to distract them as Yohan would like, his guts wrenching and churning in expectation. Of what, he isn’t sure. Validation, maybe. Which is kind of fucked up, honestly—because first, he is hetero and second, is _his_ sexuality. 

Then Wooseok nods, understanding dawning in his features. “Sorry. I must’ve misunderstood. You two just take such good care of each other.”

“’cause we are friends, hyung,” Yohan repeats as explanation, full of sincerity. “We’re doing what friends do.”

Wooseok smiles and shakes his head slowly, still looking a bit incredulous. “You guys go extra miles for normal friends sometimes.”

“We don’t…?” Yohan replies immediately. Hesitation takes over his mind though, alongside a deep curiosity. “How?”

“For example, all the things he does for you,” he says and gestures with his hand towards the bag that Yohan is holding, full of washed and even folded clothes. And maybe not just that. The gesture is so vague that it could also mean the white training pants Yohan is wearing. “And you behave in a certain way… more relaxed? You even change your voice tone to one lower. But only with him.”

Breathing out the air he’s been holding back in his lungs, he lets a small chuckle go. So that’s it? Much ado about nothing. 

“That’s because we are same aged friends!” Yohan points out as a clarification. “Of course I talk to him in a way I won’t talk to you, hyung! Or to Seungwoo hyung. Not because I like him,” he insists, adding a snort at the end of his statement. “And Hangyul… I can’t speak for him, but I’m pretty sure he’s like that with everyone. Or worse. Don’t let him know I say this, but the dude is actually a good person. He’s caring by nature. Must be a flaw in his DNA or something.

“But I like girls, hyung. I’m not gay.”

For another long moment, Wooseok looks at him. Almost like he is seizing him. Or just reconsidering his words. Is hard to tell: since he met Wooseok, he might have read him right thrice and that if Yohan hasn’t deluded himself into believing it. 

At the end, he bows his head. “I’m sorry Yohan-ah. I guess that you were so okay with me and Seungyoun that maybe I thought…” And he trails off. Averts his eyes to the streets and starts walking again.

Yohan tilts his head as he follows him past the gates and towards the other block, where the subway station is. “Why wouldn’t I be? You two like each other, right? That’s all that matter.”

A weird sound escapes through Wooseok’s lips, a mix of a snort and a sardonic chuckle. “You’ll be surprised,” he says, almost like an assurance. The tone implies that there’s story behind and emotions. Lots of emotions, soreness being one of them. Yohan doesn’t preach. They aren’t that close as friends yet and Yohan doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable and closed-off again. Especially not when he sees a pretty, friendly smile blooms in his lips. “But yeah, Yohan-ah. I like to think that that’s all that matters.”

They part ways soon after they reach the subway station. Wooseok lives in an apartment nearby, maybe another three blocks downtown. He rents it with Jinhyuk and another two guys Yohan doesn’t know. It’s farther and crowded, but he says he is used to noisy, loud neighbours by now and prefers it that way. Plus is cheaper, which helps him to save money for his designing tools and books.

There’s also a nice rooftop in the building, and before biding goodbyes, Yohan gets to making him promise that they’ll have a barbeque party there some day.

During the ride back to Jungnang-gu, he successes in thinking only about how living on his own must be. A bit tiring after doing all the house chores, but fulfilling at the same time. Fun if he shares it with someone else. And he could set his own rules. And it also could save him from long, boring commutes to school, giving him more minutes of sleep. He wouldn’t see his sisters as often as he likes, though.

“I’m home,” Yohan announces as soon as he opens the door, glad of leaving behind the night cold. He expects a half-assed response from his sister, who usually watches a music show in the living room as she does her math homework. Instead, he’s welcomed by his mother’s disappointed gaze.

“You said you were going to go out and party, but you’d never said you’ll be out the whole day too,” she comments in lieu of a greeting. Her tone resembles the night wind outside.

Immediately, Yohan bows down. Icy or not, she has a point. 

“Ah, sorry, mom. I didn’t keep track of the time and I forgot… Didn’t mean for you to worry.”

“I wasn’t,” she replies, a bit rudely. Not that he is surprised—she never measures her tone when she’s upset. “Your friend called me. At least someone does think about the parents.” And she turns to the TV, where a talk variety show is broadcasting.

Yohan winces. That must had been Hangyul. For sure. Dude is good and nice by nature, after all. Now look at him, being the perfect caring son even to someone who is not his mother. Bet he’s never been scolded by his parents. Bet he’ll never be, not when his parents pay him college and a dorm room and he does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Even drinking, dancing with strangers, bringing men ‘home’…

No. S_top_. That’s not fair to Hangyul. His friend must have done it out of niceness. He must have done it with good intentions, is just that Yohan… Yohan is tired. At least he should be grateful his mother dropped the subject quickly.

Perhaps he should text him and thank him, but—_thanks, man. I love you_

Later.

Fact is: Yohan is the one that has to drop the other shoe. And honestly? It fucking scares him.

It’s like a freefall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe that last week I wrote the uno scene and yesterday Swing released the vid of yohangyul+wooseok&eunsang playing uno??? is this fate??
> 
> Thank you for reading!!♥

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are welcomed! ♥  
(and if you have any [question](https://curiouscat.me/jeadore) or just want to [cry about sy&hg&x1 with me](https://twitter.com/jeadore_))


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